


The Thief

by kevintheturkey



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Death, Nondescript battles, Post WWII, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kevintheturkey/pseuds/kevintheturkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers crouching next to his unmoving body, and trying to slap the boy awake. He felt his milky eyes judging him for what he was about to do next. He ripped off his dog tags and shoved the corpse away. </p><p>Lincoln Campbell had died in battle, yet here he was, sitting in a diner and flirting with his waitress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thief

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by "A Night on the Town" by The Dear Hunter. If you haven't heard it, I recommend listening to it (I will warn you, though, its long). I do not own Agents of SHIELD, or its characters. Enjoy!

For the past couple days, he had caught her glancing at him between the tables she was supposed to be waiting. When their gazes met, she'd offer a small smile that he was pleased to return.

 

The usual waitress was out for the week visiting her mother, so one of the night workers had picked up her shifts. He decided he'd have to visit the diner for supper when she came back.

 

When she went back to waiting, he'd look back at the paper he was supposed to be reading and skim the lines. He'd peek out from behind it every so often to see if she would come over and wait him too.

 

Eventually, he would have to scurry back to work and hope she took his order next time. _If_ she was there.

 

He sat down at his usual table and plucked the hat off his head. He threw it on the table with the newspaper that had been tucked under his arm. Unfolding it, he checked the diner for his waiter. He shook his head in disappointment when he didn't spot her, and began reading the headline.

 

"Mind if I interrupt?"

 

He looked up to see her giving him the same smirk as before. The corners of his lips turned up. _Finally_.

 

"Not at all," he leans over to get a look at her name tag, "Daisy."

 

She ducks her head, pretending there was something interesting on her notepad.

 

"I actually go by Skye."

 

"Alright, Skye. You want to take my order?"

 

Her eyebrows shot up. "Are you ready?"

 

"Always," he winked. "Ham and cheese on rye. Water with a lemon."

 

"That was fast." She scribbled the order down at an equally impressive speed.

 

"I know what I like."

 

"I'll go grab this for you then." She had bounced halfway to the kitchen before remembering something and whipped back around. "What's your name?"

 

Grant turned to the soldier sitting next to him.

 

His blue eyes still shined bright with life, a short blonde beard cropped on his chin. He looked outlandish in the GI uniform; his helmet was too big for his head and slipped every time the truck hit a bump. If Italy was anything like North Africa, he would only last a week, two at most. If he didn't bounce out the back.

 

"Grant Ward, Corporal. You?" He didn't like making small talk, but it was better than nothing.

 

"Private," he replied. After a moment of consideration he added, "sir."

 

"I could've guessed that," Corporal Ward scoffed. "What about your name?"

 

Grant blinks away the uninvited memory from a different lifetime. He focused his attention back on Skye.

 

"Lincoln Campbell," he tells her.

 

***

 

Ward was cleaning the mud out of his gun when Lincoln approached him.

 

"Is it always like this?" The private asked as he squatted next to him.

 

"No, we usually don't get breaks this long." He snapped a few pieces back in place. "Hell, we usually don't get breaks at all."

 

Lincoln rubbed his hands together, trying to put some warmth back in them.

 

"Then why are we getting a break now?"

 

"The generals want us rested," he put the rest of the gun back together, "because they've got something big for us."

 

He glanced at the boy to see the anxiety etched on his face.

 

"You got a life back home?" He changed the topic. Nervous soldiers died, and dead soldiers lost battles. The kid needed to be focused on something else.

 

"Yeah," the boy cracked a grin. "I've got a sister, she'll be sixteen next month." They sit quietly as Lincoln contemplates something, probably his sister. Grant tried to imagine her. Did she look like Lincoln? What did she say when he was drafted? Was she working now, building guns and planes and tanks? No, she was hardly sixteen, someone so young wouldn't be working.

 

"When I get back home, I'm going to get my MD and be a doctor."

 

It took Ward a moment to register that Lincoln was still talking. He gave a curt nod in understanding.

 

"Did you leave anybody behind?" He asked him.

 

Grant mulled over the answer in his head. If he said 'yes' and made up some bull about a girl, Lincoln might be reassured. He would have someone to relate to. He wouldn't feel so alone and out of place in a country that will shoot him on sight. If he told Lincoln the truth, well, at least he wouldn't die with his head full of lies. Maybe he'd even leave Grant alone.

 

"No." The prospect of being alone was too great.

 

"Oh." He watched the fog of breath leave his mouth. "What about when the war is over?"

 

"How are you so sure that it'll end?" He asked out of curiosity.

 

Lincoln shrugged. "All things do."

 

 _Even lives_ , he thought.

 

"If I live to the end of the war," Grant starts, but doesn't know how to finish. After some consideration he continued, "I don't know. I'll take whatever life gives me."

 

He returns to the diner for supper a week later. Halting in the doorway, he searched the establishment for any sign of her.

 

He grabbed a passing waitress when he couldn't spot her.

 

"Do you know where Skye is?" He asked when she spun to face him.

 

"I think she just got off. You might be able to catch up with her out back." She told him before rushing to her next table.

 

He took her advice and headed to an alley behind the diner. It smelled like piss. As the waiter had suggested, he found her out back. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, but the grin vanished when he noticed the unfamiliar male on top of her. He was ready to leave, not wanting to see whatever happened next.

 

"Get off of me."

 

If you asked Lincoln what happened next, he wouldn't be able to tell you. He couldn't tell you when he strode over, and he couldn't tell you when or how he broke his nose. The only thing he could say is that the asshole deserved it.

 

Skye stared at the man on the ground in shock. Her hair was disheveled and her uniform was bunched and wrinkled. Her body shook in fright.

 

“Are you alright?” He took several deep breaths to try and calm himself.

 

She gave a quick nod, not paying attention to what he was saying and focusing on the bleeding man on the ground.

 

“Skye?” He wanted her to look at him and say she was alright. When she looked up, he saw the sheer terror in her eyes. Whether it was directed to the man or him, he didn’t know.

 

“Do you want a ride home?” he offered. She gave a nod that slowly turned into a shake.

 

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Her voice is distant and feeble, almost a whisper.

 

“You can stay at my place,” he lowered his voice to a calmer tone and offered his hand.

 

She took it lightly and let him guide her to the car.

  
  


Ward and Campbell were thrust onto Monastery Hill halfway through the battle. They lost sight of each other when they began to ascend. Lincoln had been rushed to the rocky outcrop of Hangman’s, while Grant ducked for cover between boulders and foxholes. Neither of them noticed the other missing, and didn’t mind.

 

They were too distracted by the pops of enemy guns and sulfur burning in the air. They had to keep their hides alive before they could worry about anyone else’s.

 

He had been reloading his gun, thinking about how many less rounds he needed to use if he wanted it to last. He looked over at Hangman’s Hill by accident.

 

He saw two soldiers grappling at the top, and recognized Lincoln almost instantly. He was tempted to cheer the kid on, until the German sidestepped and lept off the hill, taking Campbell with him. With apprehension he watched as Lincoln bounced over the crumbling stone and landed in a disgraceful heap, dead.

 

To Grant’s horror, or delight, his prediction about Lincoln had been right. He had only lasted two weeks.

  
  


Lincoln had been up for hours by the time Skye stumbled into the kitchen.

 

“Sleep well?” He asked as he flipped a page in his paper.

 

She squinted at him as she tried to figure out what had happened. She looked away when she remembered what he had done for her last night.

 

"Uh, yeah. Thanks," she replied sheepishly.

 

"There's biscuits and sausage on the counter. Help yourself."

 

She nodded and grabbed a plate he had set out for her. He continued to read the paper as she sat down next to him and ate quietly.

 

"Hey, Lincoln?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"Thank you." He put the paper down. "You're a good man."

 

He shook his head.

 

"I'm not, more the opposite, really."

 

"Yes you are," she insisted, staring at him in disbelief. "Not many people would have helped me last night. Let alone allow me to spend the night."

 

She paused, waiting for a response. When he didn't give one, she continued.

 

"You're a good man, Lincoln."

 

If only she knew Grant.

  
  



End file.
